


darling, dearest, dead

by flowersandsunshine



Category: Lovely Little Losers, Nothing Much to Do
Genre: F/M, I'm Sorry, Lolilo, angsty, background hersula, beadick, this is so sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-18
Updated: 2016-07-18
Packaged: 2018-07-24 16:31:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7515236
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flowersandsunshine/pseuds/flowersandsunshine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Beatrice dies, Benedick has a lot of things he still wants to say to her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	darling, dearest, dead

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AccioInvisibilityCloak](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AccioInvisibilityCloak/gifts).



> I wrote this in a manner of about twenty minutes and didn't read over it again, so sorry for any glaring errors. Also, this is really, really sad - pretty much just an outpouring of my own sadness (see note at the end if you're curious about that), and could be triggering for some people if death triggers you.

Loss.

It seemed impossible to describe. 

There was no rain. No thunder, no crashing noises, no realization that she was dying. No, it was quiet and empty and the peace that had surrounded him for years and years slipped quietly away, like a piece of fabric that got dropped before he had meant to let go.

Benedick glanced out the window at the glaring sunshine, his face pinched from the brightness and the ache inside his chest that wouldn’t go away. It would never go away.

He pulled the blinds closed and went to make another cup of tea.

\---

Hero was over all the time now. Sometimes Ursula came with her; sometimes not. Ben didn’t pay much attention to who was over. He just knew that he was hugging Hero a lot. She always seemed to know when he needed a hug the most.

He and Beatrice had gotten married twenty-three years earlier. They were fifty-eight. That was it. Just fifty-eight years. Fifty-eight short years. The rest of her years had been ripped from her by a fall and an ache in her left side she had been too damn stubborn to check out.

“Bea,” Ben laughed, pushing her away as she tilted her head up for a kiss, “you really should get that looked at.”

“Benedick,” she had chided him. “It’s just a cut.”

“It could be more than that,” Ben urged her.

She shook her head gently. “Anxious.”

“Damn you,” he called after her, watching her walk away, hearing her laugh. “You always bring that up.”

“That’s because you told me to,” she shot back, glancing at him before walking out the door.

He had just assumed she was right, that his anxiety was getting the better of him. It probably had been. He had also assumed that his anxiety was always wrong. 

Shit, that was the biggest mistake of his short life. The biggest fucking mistake.

\---

Beatrice had gone to lie down, and Benedick had been left to himself to worry about her. 

He didn’t think to check on her for another hour or so.

That was the next biggest mistake of his life.

\---

Hero handed him a cup of tea. “Earl Grey,” she said softly.

Her hair was still blonde, and her eyes were still kind. She was sharper and starting to get wrinkles, but she was still the same Hero. Ben could hear Ursula moving around in the kitchen.

He reached out and took the cup, his fingers curling around the handle, relishing the warmth. “Thank you,” he said quietly. He got up and silently sat down next to Hero.

She immediately laid her head on his shoulder. They sat in silence for a while.

This had become a routine. They were a family unit, bonded by the greatest loss they had ever experienced. They drank tea, talked minimally, and cuddled, attempting to escape the pain that they felt through each other. 

“Maybe I should go to England,” Ben mumbled.

“Why?” Hero whispered.

He took a sip of his tea. “Go home. See old, old friends. Get out of this house.”

Hero sighed. “Maybe you should. It would be good for you.”

Ben hesitated and glanced down at her hair, spread out over his shoulder and chest. He swallowed back the ever-present lump in his throat. “Would you want to come?”

Hero looked up at him and shook her head, her eyes glistening with tears. “No, thanks. I still have my job, and Ursula, and the kids.”

Ben nodded. “Okay.”

Hero lay her head back on his shoulder and Ursula came out of the kitchen with her own tea, joining them on the couch, silent, grieving, thinking, loving each other while they still could. While they still had their chance.

\---

Ben had been wandering for hours.

He had done all the things he planned on doing. Met up with old friends, met with even older friends, seen his parents, done some sightseeing. Everything. 

It felt empty without her by his side. Everything felt useless… hopeless. 

Ben sighed and sat down on a park bench, watching the people go back. London had changed so much over the years. He almost hadn’t recognized it at first. The people, the buildings, the subway system, everything had been changed just enough that the city looked completely different. 

If Beatrice had been there… Well. If Beatrice had been there, he would have maybe recognized it more easily. She had always centered him better than anything else.

If Beatrice had been there, he wouldn’t have gone back to London in the first place. They had done their traveling together. That part of their life he thought was over.

Ben sighed. He had so much he still wanted to say to her. So much left unsaid, so much still rattling around in that big old empty heart of his.

So much left unsaid.

\---

The idea came to him a few days later. 

Ben went back to the same bench, armed with paper and pen and a heart that was breaking.

(He may have also had some Taylor Swift music to accompany him. Nobody could judge his tears if he was listening to Taylor Swift. She had become a classic.)

Ben sat down and said hello to the ravens before uncapping his pen and beginning to write, starting with the phrase that had been swimming around in his head all day.

“For Beatrice: Darling, dearest, dead.”

He wrote and wrote until he was emptier than he had ever felt in his life. He had gone through Taylor Swift’s music collection twice over, and all his tears were gone.

But he had said his piece. Everything he had thought he would never be able to say was written down.

\---

Ben didn’t consider himself necessarily religious.

But that night, he knelt down next to his bed – he had heard that was customary – and opened up to whatever Creator was listening to him.

“Please, God, or… Creator of the Earth or whatever You want to be called. I know I haven’t spoken to You very much, not ever. But I’m begging You to do this one thing for me. Please, um…” Ben took a shaky breath and glanced over at the pages and pages he had written that day. “Please make sure my wife, Beatrice Duke-Hobbes, You know who she is, right? Please make sure she gets my letter, wherever she is. That’s all I want. Um… Sincerely yours, Benedick Hobbes,” he added desperately.

He picked up the papers and a lighter and set the stack on fire.

That night, Benedick Hobbes watched everything he had ever wanted to say to his wife burn, and he prayed that she knew – that wherever she was, she knew.

“Darling, dearest, dead.”

**Author's Note:**

> This has been milling around in my mind since accioinvisibilitycloak on tumblr said something about it, but it really came to fruition today because someone I care about died yesterday and there were so many things I still wanted to say. So this is pretty much all my feelings from that coming out, with a side of fandom. I am sorry it's so sad. And, Ceili, this is probably nothing like what you wanted to read, but I gifted it to you since you gave me the idea. Maybe someday I'll write a much happier version. <3


End file.
